Clarissa, Volume 6 - The History Of A Young Lady

Clarissa, Volume 6 − The History Of A Young Lady 88
* The Lady, in her minutes, says, 'I fear Dorcas is a false one. May I not be able to prevail upon him to leave
me at my liberty? Better to try than to trust to her. If I cannot prevail, but must meet him and my uncle, I hope
I shall have fortitude enough to renounce him then. But I would fain avoid qualifying with the wretch, or to
give him an expectation which I intend not to answer. If I am mistress of my own resolutions, my uncle
himself shall not prevail with me to bind my soul in covenant with so vile a man.'
After a pause (for I was all attention) thus she proceeded:
It is easy for me, Mr. Lovelace, to see that further violences are intended me, if I comply not with your
purposes, whatever they are, I will suppose them to be what you solemnly profess they are. But I have told
you as solemnly my mind, that I never will, that I never can be your's; nor, if so, any man's upon earth. All
vengeance, nevertheless, for the wrongs you have done me, I disclaim. I want but to slide into some obscure
corner, to hide myself from you and from every one who once loved me. The desire lately so near my heart, of
a reconciliation with my friends, is much abated. They shall not receive me now, if they would. Sunk in mine
own eyes, I now think myself unworthy of their favour. In the anguish of my soul, therefore, I conjure you,
Lovelace, [tears in her eyes,] to leave me to my fate. In doing so, you will give me a pleasure the highest I
now can know.
Where, my dearest life−−−−
No matter where. I will leave to Providence, when I am out of this house, the direction of my future steps. I
am sensible enough of my destitute condition. I know that I have not now a friend in the world. Even Miss
Howe has given me up−−or you are−−But I would fain keep my temper!−−By your means I have lost them
all−−and you have been a barbarous enemy to me. You know you have.
She paused.
I could not speak.
The evils I have suffered, proceeded she, [turning from me,] however irreparable, are but temporarily evils.
Leave me to my hopes of being enabled to obtain the Divine forgiveness for the offence I have been drawn in
to give to my parents and to virtue; that so I may avoid the evils that are more than temporary. This is now all
I have to wish for. And what is it that I demand, that I have not a right to, and from which it is an illegal
violence to withhold me?
It was impossible for me, I told her plainly, to comply.
I besought her to give me her hand as this very day. I could not live without her. I communicated to her my
Lord's illness, as a reason why I wished not to stay for her uncle's anniversary. I besought her to bless me with
her consent; and, after the ceremony was passed, to accompany me down to Berks. And thus, my dearest life,
said I, will you be freed from a house, to which you have conceived so great an antipathy.
This, thou wilt own, was a princely offer. And I was resolved to be as good as my word. I thought I had killed
my conscience, as I told thee, Belford, some time ago. But conscience, I find, though it may be temporarily
stifled, cannot die, and, when it dare not speak aloud, will whisper. And at this instant I thought I felt the
revived varletess (on but a slight retrograde motion) writhing round my pericardium like a serpent; and in the
action of a dying one, (collecting all its force into its head,) fix its plaguy fangs into my heart.
She hesitated, and looked down, as if irresolute. And this set my heart up at my mouth. And, believe me, I had
instantly popt in upon me, in imagination, an old spectacled parson, with a white surplice thrown over a black
habit, [a fit emblem of the halcyon office, which, under a benign appearance, often introduced a life of storms
and tempests,] whining and snuffling through his nose the irrevocable ceremony.